Coming Home to Someone who Loves You
by sky.guinalie
Summary: Hawkeye is having a tough day at work. He didn't get to fight at all, Nat got mad at him, and none of his teammates are learning ASL for him. He just needs to get home. He needs a little love too. He needs Laura. He's my favorite avenger, and he's not cool enough in the movies. Deaf!Clint Barton ficlet.


Okay, so this might get a lot of hate. I'm crossing different universes here and I know it. It's set in the first movie, but focussing on Clint's backstory, which was revealed in the second, and I'm going with the comic book canon that he's deaf. Just don't set me on fire.

Clint raised a hand. "Guys. Hey, guys. Uh, hello?"

No one answered. No one even acknowledged that he was speaking. That was normal, and he was used to it. He just thought he had something to say that might help.

"Okay, it's decided," said Steve, smiling confidently. "This should hit Loki right where it counts."

Tony laughed. "Nowadays, we might say something like 'we'll kick his ass', old man."

Pulling on a straight face, Steve tried to look upset. "I guess you younguns should go on and fight without me. I don't think my heart could take it."

Nat was bent over double, laughing.

"Seriously, though, I don't think we could do it without you," said Bruce. "We're really a team, we need everyone."

They all nodded, and Clint nodded with them.

"Come on," Tony commanded. "Let's go. Steve, Thor, and I will go out first and scope things out. Then, Nat, you can come in and start the ground battle. Bruce, we'll call you if we need you. Alright, guys! Let's do this!"

They filed out of the prep room and Tony actually shut the door behind him.

Clint opened it back up, and followed them out, his shoulders slumping. He reached behind over his shoulder, checking and making sure he had enough arrows for the little skirmish. Because this wasn't a big battle. It was nothing. Just a few of Loki's possessed minions causing trouble around Chicago. Still, though. They hadn't even mentioned him in their pre-mission chat. It was okay, though. He couldn't exactly hear everything they were saying anyways.

Clint had never really asked them to try to use ASL with him. He'd never even told them about his hearing disability, but he was sure they'd read his files in the SHIELD database. He felt that it was a bit obnoxious to come into their conversation like 'Oh, I'm sorry, what was that? It's just, I can't hear you, so maybe you could try communicating in a way I could understand?'. He didn't want to put too much pressure on them, especially since they were more important than him.

Anyways, off to battle.

The fighting itself was okay. The one trouble spot was the fact that the people they were going against weren't actually bad. Just possessed. So that meant that they had to subdue the attackers without actually hurting them. Basically, no arrows.

It was mostly Steve and Nat doing all the actual fighting. They were both good at hand to hand and at blocking someone without striking back.

After the little mini battle was done, they went back to their headquarters at SHEILD. Tony and Steve got out a couple of beers and they were having a great time.

Clint sat curled up on a couch in one corner of the room, drawing in his sketchpad. It was only when he felt a tap on his shoulder that he realized Nat, standing right above him. "Sorry, what?" He looked up at her, watching her lips as they formed the repeat of her original statement. He read it to be a friendly little snippet of conversation complementing the drawing. "Oh, thanks."

But she looked confused now. She was asking, what? Why would you say that?

He'd messed up. But this message he could read clearly. "Sorry," he murmured, watching her stalk off before returning to his drawing.

Finally, when Clint could no longer stand the heated, packed atmosphere of the room and their backs to him, ignoring him any longer, he got up. Bruce waved, and he nodded politely back, and that was it. No 'see ya, pal' or 'have a nice night, Barton', but that was fine.

He spoke to Fury about leaving for the rest of the night, and the commander allowed it. Luckily, Fury's words were easy to read. He always talked like he was angry.

That was it. Clint was gone. He flew a SHIELD aircraft through the sky, pushing the fuel lever as far as it would go. Clouds sped past him and it began to rain, but he knew he'd arrive soon enough. He needed to get home.

And home he got. He landed the aircraft in a field, and ran through the rain, passing a greenhouse and rows of plants. Then, he went around the broken down wooden fence and felt his feet pound up the wooden steps, the thin layer of water that was lying there splashing up every time.

She must have heard the aircraft. She was standing in the doorway, the light from inside the house like a halo around her perfect form, shining into the grey, rainy night. Laura.

And he said it. "Laura."

She smiled, but for him, it was everything he couldn't hear her say. Hello, welcome home, I missed you, come in, I'm glad you're safe. I love you.

In moments, Clint was inside, pulling off his wet coat and running his hands through his rain-laden hair. The door was shut behind him, keeping out the unknown and keeping him and Laura safe.

She was signing to him. Tea, love? Or maybe some coffee?

"No thanks," he said, unable to keep a smile off his face. He sat down in his armchair, feeling the warmth from the fire as he tucked his feet up.

Laura nodded. She walked over around the table from where she'd been going to the kitchen and sat down with him, scooting him over so she could squeeze down beside him. Reaching up, she lost her fingers in his scruffy semi-damp hair.

Leaning slightly over, Clint kissed the top of her head.

The fire crackled, the wind outside roared, there was even a bit of thunder. All muted. All nonexistent. All blocked out of their special little safe place. That chair was their warm island in the middle of stormy seas. The fire was the sun of their own private universe.

You didn't need words in order to have this. Clint was the happiest he'd ever been in times like these, when there wasn't anything to be said at all. Right then, right there, he realized that he didn't care what happened at work. He didn't mind that the team paid him no attention, he didn't mind that some of Fury's pals treated him like shit. Nothing mattered there except that he was doing what he loved, saving lives, and even that wasn't comparable to moments like these ones.

No matter how bad the day is, you're fine if you come home to someone who loves you.

And Clint was fine.


End file.
